


A Special Place in Hell

by madwomanwithabox



Category: Iron Man (Movies), The Avengers (2012), Thor (2011)
Genre: Angst, Attack of the Feels, Clintasha - Freeform, F/M, Mild Gore, Mild Sexual Content, mild violence
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-07-03
Updated: 2012-07-03
Packaged: 2017-11-09 03:20:13
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 624
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/450675
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/madwomanwithabox/pseuds/madwomanwithabox
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>There's a special place in Hell for people like Clint and Natasha...but maybe Hell ain't a bad place to be.</p>
            </blockquote>





	A Special Place in Hell

**Author's Note:**

> Short, bittersweet...like most of my fics, I had an attack of feels, and I ficced it. Tumblr's a little to blame for this one. But only for one eensy bit.
> 
> Unbeta'd, unseen by human eyes, blame me if it sucks.
> 
> And if it does not suck? I dedicate this to Lexie and Amber. Who love me for my cray cray and my feels.

There’s a special place in Hell for people like Nat and him. Every day of their lives, they’ve lived there, in a world that’s always red with blood and glistening with sinew and exposed bone. It’s raw meat and dead eyes, it’s death rattles and pain, there’s always lots of pain. Stands to reason, being that taking life is what they do.

It’s also the place where Natasha’s head rests on his thigh as he blots at a split lip or a bloody nose. It’s where she sits astride his waist so she can lean over and focus as she sews up a gash on his chest with her own two hands. It’s four AM coffee on a freezing rooftop behind a sniper’s sight, and it’s holding her close, jewels glittering at her throat and in her hair as they survey a target before setting up the kill.

In that special place in Hell, daylight is the enemy. It’s the grey streaks of dawn or the jewel tones of sunrise, but never full daylight when they find each other. When the rest of the world can see, they don’t touch and barely speak. She’s a distant fire, and he’s usually cold. They’re parallel lines, always moving beside each other but never intersecting when the day unfolds. This is safety, but it’s not security.

Security is the kill, the wound, the blood and the meat and the pain. It’s the dark and the weight of another body and warmth, somewhere in the blackness or the palest, dusty light. Security is knowing there’s a place to go for stitches and rubbing alcohol, a set of hands to pass along a hot drink or a shot of tequila your way, and a bed to collapse in when the one he has is too full of shadows to withstand another night alone.

This is why Clint doesn’t believe he’s going to burn when he dies. He knows he won’t, because Hell is here and now. It’s distance when separation can kill and comfort when he can’t afford to be vulnerable. It’s knowing every day that, if they forget it’s daylight, one of them will die. It’s loving the hunt and glorying in the little fires going out with every arrow he looses, every bullet that comes from her gun.

He’s burning for his crimes in the here and now, or that was what he believed until the night after New York when she came to his apartment in Stark Tower in the middle of the night. She tasted like vodka when she kissed him, and he could see the shadows trying to follow her into the room.

In a sea of naked flesh and salty sweat, he barred the shadows from her presence. With his lungs filled with sex and his ears filled with her hoarse cries of pleasure, he made the night last as long as he could. They took each other instead of lives, over and over again, each of them trying to get the last word as they touched and bit, as she rode him wildly and he fucked her with fingers and mouth, glorying in every new orgasm he gave her.

Daylight came, and she was gone. They were parallel lines again, and Clint was content with it.

He still believes there’s a special place in Hell for people like them, but even good souls sin. Sometimes the wicked do good things, even if all they do is kill the right man for the right side, maybe even do it for the right reason. Maybe the good things cancel out a bad thing or two, now and again.

Maybe, even in that special place in Hell, people like them can catch a lucky break.


End file.
